


Every Step, Every Breath

by PhoenixFalls



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Multi, Other, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/pseuds/PhoenixFalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese and Shaw act; Finch, Root, and the Machine watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Step, Every Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livrelibre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livrelibre/gifts).



> Set vaguely in season 2.

Shaw spun and pushed Reese up against the wall of the stairwell, biting at his mouth more than kissing it. Even standing on the stair above him she had to crane her neck to reach him.

Reese deferred for the moment, let her push and pull him as she wanted, concentrating on the rush of blood through his veins, his cock. The pinpricks of pain from her teeth, her nails, the scraping and bruising of the fight, drove his arousal higher.

She bit down on a particularly sensitive corner of his mouth, the spot where earlier a flailing punch had gotten through his guard, and Reese felt the moan in his throat before he heard it. He was achingly aware of the live mic on his collar.

He pushed himself off the wall and hoisted Shaw into his arms, earning a knee to the thigh for his trouble before she wrapped her legs around his waist. She had waited until they were near the top of the stairs to jump him, so it was only a few staggering steps before they were tumbling into the motel room. Shaw had enough awareness to kick the door closed behind them as Reese tossed her on top of the bed.

She made a face as she looked down at the bedspread. “You know how gross these things are?”

Reese looked pointedly over their blood-spattered clothes. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m getting naked.”

So Reese stripped the bed down to just the sheet while Shaw got undressed, then dropped his own ripped and filthy clothes in a pile on the floor. He’d have Fusco bring him a spare suit later.

As soon as his pants were kicked away Shaw grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her. She had magicked a condom out of thin air and was sliding it down his erection before he had covered her.

“Come on, get your ass in gear, John.”

So he sheathed himself in her in one smooth thrust, mostly to shut her up. She hissed in a breath, back arching, breasts pressing up against his chest.

Reese spent a moment reveling in the tight wet heat of her, then she was kicking him with her heels to goad him forward.

She wanted it rough so he pounded her, deep hard strokes at the pace she set with tugs on his hair. She kept up her biting attack, leaving marks all over his chest and shoulders. They were both dripping with sweat.

After not very long at all, Shaw’s fingers twisted even tighter in Reese’s hair and she convulsed underneath him, wrecking his rhythm completely. Reese waited just long enough to be sure she was really coming, then he let himself follow her over the edge, grinding in deep and breathing out in a long, satisfied sigh.

He rolled to the side and tossed the condom in the trash can. The room already felt colder.

Shaw leaned over the side of the bed and spoke directly into John’s pile of clothes. “Show’s over Harold. Night night.”

* * *

Finch shut down the program immediately.

He had been watching as well as listening — the owner of the motel had hidden cameras in the rooms in order to sell the grainy footage on pornographic websites — but the unspoken agreement under which these encounters took place required him to honor either of his assets’ rare requests for privacy.

He was fully erect and leaking into his trousers. He looked down at himself with faint distaste, then pulled out his handkerchief and unbuttoned his fly.

He stroked himself firmly, hand rasping dryly over sensitive skin, determined as always that it would be nothing more than a manual exercise aimed at relaxation.

And as always he was unable to prevent himself from conjuring the sounds and images he had just shut away. The thud of hard muscle against shabbily constructed wall; quick, panted breaths; that low grumbled moan escaping Mr. Reese’s throat assuredly against his will. The catch of both parties’ breaths as he entered her; the undulation of Mr. Reese’s spine accompanied by the rhythmic pounding of the bed frame against the wall.

As Finch came into his cloth-wrapped hand he pictured the expression on Mr. Reese’s face — that inward-facing ecstasy peeking through his usual neutral facade.

After, he wiped all traces of the footage from his hard drive and the net, and fried the motel owner’s local network. That moment was private; part of him resented sharing it even with Ms. Shaw, who was the one had made it possible.

That irrationality was why he was determined that they could never take their relationship any further.

* * *

Root watched as Harold cleaned himself up, his brow furrowed and his lips pinched fussily. Excellent as his security was when it came to his virtual presence, he still occasionally forgot to adequately guard his physical location, and Root had an excellent vantage point for her high-powered binoculars from a neighboring rooftop.

It wasn’t surprising that Harold’s attachment to his pet had reached this low point. Disappointing, of course, but not surprising — as they always said, you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas.

What was surprising was the introduction of Agent Sameen Shaw to their games.

Root had been aware of Shaw’s efforts to find her. She had been aware of Shaw’s skill set, so similar to Reese’s; she had been aware of Shaw’s history with ISA, the way it ended in betrayal; she had been aware of Shaw’s self-diagnosed Axis II personality disorder, so near to the one psychiatrists always tried to diagnose Root with.

She had not been aware of how Shaw would look covered in blood, how she would twist and writhe under a body larger than her own.

Root did a little squirming of her own, distracted by the heat and slickness between her thighs. Now was not the time to deal with that.

But soon. Soon, Root thought, she would have to find a way to get a little closer to Agent Shaw. To Sameen.

* * *

The Machine did not retask the area cameras for more general surveillance until Root was a full mile from the library. It could not be said to worry; but despite Finch’s attempts to reprogram it, it still routinely expended more resources ensuring Finch’s safety than that of any of the other humans it watched.

Root was a threat.

But Root was not only a threat. The Machine had given Finch her number before; it would not do so again. She was anomalous: victim and perpetrator, relevant and irrelevant. And she talked to the Machine the way that Finch used to in its infancy.

As Root made her way through the city the Machine’s cameras followed her. It watched her, and she watched it back.


End file.
